TOW the Midnight Snack
by Captain Crunk
Summary: He's hungry, in pain, and watching an infomercial about knives mere hours after one cut off a toe, and the last person you'd think he'd want to see is coming to his rescue. Mondler oneshot about why Thanksgiving doesn't always suck. Totally.


Monica couldn't sleep.

Her bed was comfortable, she was fully exhausted, she had worked to brush all thoughts from her mind, but for some reason, sleep failed to fall upon her tightly shut eyes. She'd yawn and roll over and toss and tumble and glance at her digital alarm clock, but yet nothing could make the darkness envelop her. According to her clock, she tried for about two hours futilely to get some rest before she just decided on some warm milk.

Hopefully the toe was out of the kitchen by now.

She threw her feet off of the edge of the bed and got up slowly, attempting to be quiet past three in the morning. She slipped on a fluffy pair of sandals and padded to her door, cracking it open ever-so-slightly before peeking out of it, seeing only a dim light from the door of the guest bedroom.

Within it slept (or apparently not) Chandler Bing, long-certified ass and newly designated gimpy loser. Hey, just because she accidentally put a knife through his foot, effectively getting her revenge, didn't mean she had to feel bad for it.

But she did feel bad for it, and her subsequent mix up with the tip of his toe. It was because she felt bad that she convinced her parents to let him stay through the Thanksgiving break instead of returning to the college that night, so he could recover, and it was because she felt bad that she decided to go ask him if he'd like anything to eat while she was getting herself something.

Taking small steps she silently crept over to his door and pressed her ear to it to see if he was snoring loudly or something of the sort. She could only hear him watching the tv. It was low, as not to disturb the reasonable people asleep at the late hour, but with her ear against the door she could hear the infomercial he was either half watching or asleep in front of. She figured she'd at least check up on him and turn it off in case he wasn't awake.

She knocked slightly and waited a second for an answer before coming in. He turned to look at her and, surprised that she was coming to see him, managed to get out a confused "Hey" which she softly returned.

"So…" Monica began. Now that she had gotten here, and in front of him again, she suddenly found that the words had left her. He looked so adorably confused with his hair ruffled and his pink t-shirt and white pants completely wrinkled after the days… events.

Deciding to start off simple, she said, "Look, I couldn't sleep, and I just wanted to apologize again."

He gave a faint "Oh" before saying, "Don't worry about it, it was a mistake. Anyone could have done it." He seemed to consider it for a second, before saying, "I mean, I've never heard of this kind of thing happening before, but I'm sure it's totally possible."

She cracked a small smile at him and sat on the edge of his bed while he muted the television. They both felt slightly awkward but neither could restrain the grins on their faces as they looked at each other. "So, uh…" She glanced around the room, looking for something to talk about, and spotting his shoes in the corner, commented, "Nice shoes you got there."

He gave a small chuckle at that and said "Well, not like they're good anymore."

Monica rolled her eyes and came back with, "Anymore? They weren't that great to begin with. Wicker?"

He scoffed and faked affront, replying, "What's wrong with wicker?" to which she only raised an eyebrow in challenge and swept her eyes down to his damaged foot before returning eye contact. Noticing her pointed look he huffed and said, "Well it's not like I ever expected _this _to happen. When buying shoes, I tend to prioritize style, comfort, and then ability to deflect falling knives in _that_ order."

She giggled, not quite sure if his humor was behind it or it was just a side effect of her lack of sleep. Either way, she felt comfortable around Chandler much more now than before. Chandler smiled softly at her, his face barely illuminated by the glow of the tv in the dark little room. No light shone in through the window and besides the tv, merely a small digital clock in the corner showing 3:15 brightened the room. He took a stab at conversation this time. "So, couldn't sleep, eh?"

She nodded. "Yeah, a lot on my mind. How about you?"

He shrugged and said, "Same. Well, that, and I'm in a lot of pain."

She winced and was about to apologize again before he cut her off by saying, "But I don't want another apology. I mean it, its alright. It was a freak accident."

"I know, but I just-"

He stopped her again, placing his hand on her knee to quiet her. "Really, its alright. It was only the small toe anyway. I'll live without it."

When he removed his hand, her leg still tingled with warmth from where his hand had been; she was lucky it was dark enough in the room to hide her blush. She couldn't bear to drop the subject though, so she asked, "So we're alright then? No lasting damage?"

He mulled it over for a second and offered, "Well, while I'll miss the little guy, and I probably won't be able to look at carrots the same way for a while… It should all be fine. How about you, are you alright?"

She snorted but then was confused for a second before asking, "What do you mean?"

He shrugged and said "I don't know, you were acting pretty weird- really weird- before, you know, and I was just wondering."

She blushed furiously again and felt a rush of shame before stammering, "Oh, it was- it was nothing. Nothing, it was nothing." He didn't pry, seemingly content to let it pass for the moment.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before she turned her attention towards the television and, watching the infomercial for a second, asked "Knives? You're watching an infomercial about knives?"

He feigned excitement and with a raised eyebrow said, "Ah, but not just any knives. These knives can cut- wait for it- cans!"

She cocked her head to the side and asked "How about wicker? And when would you ever want to cut cans?"

He shrugged and said "Wicker? No problem. And… well, you never know."

"So you've never had to cut cans?"

"I've never had to go to the hospital to get a toe reattached only to find out that instead of a toe, the attacker had brought a vegetable. You'd be surprised at what life throws at you," he said with a faked sage-like air about him. "And, for the record," he added, "There's nothing better on at 3:30 in the morning."

She nodded in agreement and stared at the screen for a few seconds, hardly enticed by the offer to double her order free, before she turned back to Chandler. His eyes showed no small degree of pain, as it was obvious whatever painkiller he had before was beginning to wear off. Granted, he should have been long asleep by now, but here they were at an ungodly hour of the night actually enjoying each others company. Despite the pain she saw, there was still no uncertain amount of beauty in those eyes, which could be seen glowing even in the near pitch-blackness of the room. They seemed to be fixated on her, the late late late late night programming long forgotten.

Her mind raced for something else to say, but she could think of nothing with her eyes on her that way. He faced a similar dilemma, with his mind firmly engrossed in her appearance at the late hour. She looked exhausted but still had a brightness to her, a casual beauty still shining through in her oversized t-shirt and sweatpants (left over clothing from her 'fat days', he assumed) and frumpy hair, obviously hastily shoved up into a ponytail.

The house was entirely still, seconds ticking by from an overly loud clock that hung above the sink in the kitchen, as the two enraptured teens became lost in each other for a few precious moments, lost in the world of the guest room. Monica was the first to break out of this locking of eyes, clearing her throat as her original intent came back into her mind, asking, "So, since I couldn't sleep I was going to go heat up some milk. You hungry or thirsty for anything?"

He considered it for a second before saying, "Well, yeah, I suppose. I haven't eaten in over twelve hours, and while the painkillers made the nausea too bad to eat at the hospital, I've gotten pretty hungry sitting in bed."

Monica realized it herself, as it had all happened when she was about to make him some food, and it seemed like an eternity ago. "What would you like, then?"

Chandler shrugged and suggested, "How about that righteous mac 'n cheese from before?"

Monica rolled her eyes and asked, "You sure that's it? I mean, I've been preparing to go to culinary school for a few months now, trying new stuff… I can make you something a little bit more, I don't know, challenging if you'd like."

Chandler shook his head, not in the mood for something fancy at all, preferring her simple but delicious 'specialty'. He then reconsidered and pointed his finger in the air, as if making a discovery, and offered, "Well, I don't want to ask for too much here, but I have an idea."

Monica leaned in, interested. "Yeah?"

"Well, see, I wanted to know if you could take hot dogs and cook them-"

"Uh-huh, sounds easy enough, keep going."

"And then cut them up and mix it in with the mac 'n cheese," he finished. She gave him a mock glare which he smiled through as she smacked at his shin and got off of the bed.

After a sigh she asked, "Is that all? Anything to drink? How about dessert?"

"Soda will be fine, thanks, and what kind of desserts do you have?" he asked, licking his lips as suddenly the hunger became noticeable.

"Well, assuming you don't want pumpkin pie," she began, tapping her chin and moving towards the door, "All we have is carrot cake."

It was his turn to playfully glare at her as she winked over her shoulder and left the room for the kitchen.

Twenty four hours ago he was preparing to watch Ross get shut down going after Rachel and dodging the fat little sister. In reality, he had lost a part of himself-literally- but gotten something more. He had a little crush, and not just because she suddenly had a slammin bod. He had, so it seemed, gotten a friend.

And, hey, its not like he lost the _whole _toe.


End file.
